The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld #1)(31)

"Unlike Reyes, I don't mind her presence," Paris said, rubbing his hands together. "I only mind your unwillingness to share. I'd like to - "

Maddox shoved Paris before the man could finish the sentence. "Do not speak another word. I know what you would like to do to her, and I will die first."

Now Paris frowned, pale skin dusting with angry color. "Back off, *. I haven't had a woman today, so I'm in no mood for this kind of bullshit."

Torin remained in the corner, watching, grin spreading. "Anyone else find this highly amusing? It's even better than listening to the brokers when stocks plummet."

Maddox struggled to rein in his temper and shove Ashlyn to the back of his mind. Where she belonged. As a female, as a human, as possible Bait, she was the last person who should rouse this sort of protective reaction in him.

Should, should, should. Argh! End this. Finally. Soon. Now.

"Enough!" Lucien shouted.

Everyone quieted and stared at Lucien in surprise. He was not usually a shouter.

"Were there Hunters in town?" he asked Paris and Reyes.

Reyes shook his head. "We didn't find any."

"Good. That's good. Perhaps Maddox did indeed kill them all." Lucien nodded in satisfaction. "But Maddox doesn't know about the gods yet. We need to tell him. What's more, Aeron and I... did something last night."

Instantly Aeron's body went rigid. "We said we wouldn't tell them."

"I know." Lucien sighed, clearly at the end of his patience. "I changed my mind."

"You cannot simply change your mind!" Aeron roared, leaping in front of Lucien.

"I can and I did," was the reply. Not exactly calm, but close, only edged with steel.

"What's going on?" Maddox stepped between them and pushed them apart. For once, he was not the one throwing accusations and fists. "I'm ready to listen. You mentioned the gods. I know Aeron was summoned. I was too distracted to ask for details before. What did they want from him?"

"Later," Torin said to Maddox, but he didn't take his eyes off Lucien. "What'd you do, Death?"

"Spill," Reyes commanded.

Lucien's attention never wavered from Aeron. "After their reaction to Ashlyn, we need to make sure they don't accidentally stumble upon our secret. What do you think will happen if they do?"

For a long while, Aeron did not reply. Tension filled the air, grave, sinister. Finally, Aeron nodded. "Fine. Show them. But get ready to war, my friend, because they aren't going to be happy."

"Someone had better explain," Reyes demanded, looking between them.

"An explanation will not be good enough. I need to show you." Lucien started down the hall. "This way."

Prophetic words, Maddox thought. He cast a questioning glance at Torin, who had uttered something similar only last night. Know what's going on? he mouthed.

No, was the silent reply.

Nothing good, that much he could guess. Lucien had never acted this mysterious. Confused, intrigued, concerned, Maddox glanced at Ashlyn's door before following his friends.

Ashlyn fell back onto the bed, struggling to control her breathing. Oh God. He'd come back. He hadn't been a dream, hallucination or mirage. Maddox was alive. She'd really been locked inside a dungeon; he'd really risen from the dead. And he'd really stopped the voices.

When he'd left her in this oddly bare bedroom, she'd searched for a phone, found nothing, then searched for a way out. Again, nothing. Fatigue had quickly settled on her shoulders, nearly crushing her. She'd been unable to fight it, the silence inexorably relaxing, like a beloved drug she'd finally been able to indulge in. So she'd lain down, not caring about the consequences. She'd entertained the notion that maybe, just maybe, all of this was a delusion and when she opened her eyes, she'd find herself in her own home, her own bed.

Not so. Oh, not so.

A moment ago, a shock of thrumming power had slammed through her, dragging her kicking and screaming from the most peaceful sleep of her entire life, a sleep wrapped in that blissful silence. And then Maddox had been standing over her, looking down at her with those fathomless purple eyes.

His face had been, was, a mass of bruises and cuts. Black and blue and bloodied, his left eye swollen, his lip split from top to bottom. At the memory, nausea churned in her stomach. Had those monsters tried to kill him again?

Again. Ha! She laughed humorlessly. They had killed him. And two of his killers had stood at his side. He'd seemed on affable terms with them, conversing with them as if he had no reason to hate them. How could they still be friends?

She lumbered from the bed. Her body creaked and ached with every movement, as if she were a doddering ninety rather than a spry twenty-four. She frowned. Too much stress, with no real end in sight.

The men must have wandered off, because she no longer heard them beyond the threshold. Good. She didn't want to deal with them right now. Or ever. Take care of business, then find a way out of here.

She trekked to the bathroom, awed by its surprising beauty, considering the sparseness of the bedroom and the starkness of the dungeon. Here she found white-tiled walls and a matching marble floor, a built-in chrome and black vanity overflowing with towels, a porcelain sink, a gleaming claw-foot tub with a raised nozzle - in case a giant decided to shower? she wondered, wide-eyed - and a nearly transparent curtain.